


when our eyes collide, i know you well

by friedmangoslushies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, i wrote it in a 30min fit of inspiration, really dumb short angsty fic, really there are times when it seems like it's better to be dead than alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:32:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friedmangoslushies/pseuds/friedmangoslushies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fighting ever-dulling senses proves to be a losing battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when our eyes collide, i know you well

She blinds you when you’re a little younger than 6 sweeps.

You find her and you suddenly can’t stand her and you let the back of your palm strike her cheek. You just know she’s biting down on her lower lip ever so slightly – her lower lip, naturally black painted shiny cerulean – she’s clenching her fists – standard grey with undertones of blue peeking through, almost imperceptible freckles dotting them – she’s doing everything she can to not cry out in pain because Vriska Serket can sure act tough but she can’t take a punch. As her head flies to the side, her hair traces your cheek – her hair; unruly, uncombed, black as the night falling halfway down her back. You hear air pass through her teeth in a faint hiss and you’re satisfied once again to leave, stumbling all the way back to the lab.

You’ve spent years FLARPing with Vriska. You more or less know her exact appearance by heart.

It’s a little after your 6th wriggling day when you realize you don’t.

Maybe you didn’t in the first place. She was a cerulean blood, one caste higher than you. Grey skin. Long black hair. Yellow eyes. Grey irises. Were they grey? Had they already started transitioning, flecks of blue dotting them as she matured? How wide was her grin? Did she have a dimple on the right side? Didn’t she have a crooked fang? Little things that barely matter. You don’t care. 

You shouldn’t care.

But it gets worse. You can’t even remember how tall she is. She was taller than you, right? Well, yeah, she’s gotta be; everyone’s taller than you, even Nepeta. But by how much? Just a few inches? She didn’t tower above you, did she? Did her hair make it past her waist? Was it wavy or straight? Did it have grey highlights? It did, right? Did her nose have a really prominent bridge? You think she had really long eyelashes. Did she even ever wear lipstick at all? Are you sure it was blue? What does blue even look like?

It’s around this time you shove your cane through her stomach and listen to her take her final breaths while rolling around in her own blood.  
You’re now a little older than 7 sweeps and light and color has returned to your eyes again just as it’s lost its meaning.

You’re lying in a crumpled mess of your own dragon cloak and pajamas and you grip a purple Faygo bottle as if it were the last thing on earth. You’re face down – you think you are – and you’re half-asleep and you’re almost positive this floor used to be steel grey but right now it’s swirling in colorful patterns before your eyes and it hurts your head to look so you squeeze your eyelids shut.

Gamzee’s close to you – you can hear him. He mouth breathes, and loudly, too. It’s obnoxious. You wanna muster to energy to berate him, but you can’t. Instead all you can do is throw an empty bottle in what you hope is his general direction and he curses at you. You try to drown them out as you ask what Vriska looked like.

He tells you it’s been so long, he can barely remember, hand him a Faygo. You say no, tell me, and he sighs and tells you everything he can remember, which isn’t much. She went god tier before she died. Thief of Light. Orange and yellow pajama clothes. Fluttery blue wings. Her hair was a massive nest of tangles and waves. Thin-rimmed round glasses hid her eyes. He doesn’t remember much else but you thank him anyway because any information that could help you piece a picture of her back together is valuable.

You wonder how obvious it is that you miss her more than anything else.


End file.
